


advances

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breeding, Drug Use, Established Relationship, M/M, Medical Emergency During Sex, Mental Health Issues, Mpreg, Older Man/Younger Man, Omegaverse, Science Fiction, Self-Medication, Sex Toys, Trying for Pregnancy, super light on the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: A regular heat, they thought. Maybe a chance Malcolm would be pregnant by the end. Then everything went wrong.Whumptober: Oxygen Mask + Kinktober: Breeding
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	advances

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober + Kinktober = this experiment. I have a handful of different Kinktober prompt lists and the Whumptober prompt list, so I'm going to cross them over as much as I can. These came from [Kinktober](https://lustyargonianmaid.tumblr.com/post/627757371721220096/time-to-start-planning-kinktober-fandom-works) and [Whumptober](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated).

Blue.

A slow brush across Malcolm’s lips, then to his face.

Red. White.

Lights pinging through the arc window, off the ceiling.

Black.

Gil’s trapped in the loft, sequestered until his urge to breed diminishes. A requirement imposed so biology can't make the evening worse. Though he's typically quick to dodge archaic procedure, he knows rushing out right now will only end in another crisis.

He didn’t know this was possible. Didn’t know something could go wrong during sex that could kill his husband.

“I’ve got it under control. I’ll let you know,” Malcolm always says. They're very open in their communications, be they likes, dislikes, fumbles, or pivots. Nothing has ever ended this badly in the years they've been together.

As Gil stares at the clock, counting the time since the paramedics raced Malcolm to the hospital, his rock-hard cock points at the ceiling, refusing to fall against his stomach, tenacious and standing out like an obelisk in a meadow. Refusing to subside so he can go be with his husband. Parts of his brain scream _mate, mate_ while others panic as he can't sort out what happened.

A regular heat, they thought. Maybe a chance Malcolm would be pregnant by the end. Now the only thought left in his mind is whether his husband survived the trip to the hospital, swimming in visions of the oxygen mask strapped to his face as he was carried out.

Nothing was normal.

Malcolm's heat had come on strong, surprising them both with its intensity even though they had been prepared. A round with Gil had quickly been followed by multiple rounds with toys, Gil fucking him while he keened, screaming for more. There didn't seem to be anything he could do to bring the kid some level of comfort as he constantly begged, body still somehow unfulfilled.

Thrusting a knotting dildo into his greedy hole another time, he almost didn’t hear him speak into the sheets over his panting. "Something's wrong," Malcolm blurted, gasps taking over.

Gil perhaps pulled the dildo out quicker than he should have, but his husband was moaning in pain, bucking against the sheets. One hand fisted the covers while the other grasped at his chest. "Bright?" Gil asked, concerned hand resting on his shoulder.

"Something's wrong."

Fuck biology. Gil doesn’t want to be hard right now. He’s capable of making a rational decision that his husband’s not well — now is not the time for breeding. But the chemicals still flood his system, don’t release him from their grasp. Designed for coupling for days, his body doesn't understand halting hours into a heat. Thinking more clearly now, he realizes that perhaps he should have asked the paramedics what he should do, or maybe they told him and he wasn't in a headspace to listen.

He tries a cold shower, but it’s not cold enough. Considers graduating to sticking his cock and balls in an ice bath, but Google argues several alternatives. For once grateful for Jessica’s imposition with her medicine cabinet, he takes a few tablets that he reads might be able to quell his urge.

Google says it might take an hour to resolve. He doesn’t have a fucking hour. Resolution is for minor issues, not for an erection that killed his husband.

Might have.

Rationally, he knows his dick’s not the culprit. The activity? The hormones? His heart? Anxiousness? The kid couldn’t _breathe_. Emotionally, he feels responsible and exceptionally guilty he still hasn't calmed enough to leave the loft.

He pulls on sweatpants and a sweatshirt and starts doing squats in the living room. He wants to be out the door the second his hormones are counteracted to a manageable level.

55, 56 —

 _Mate_.

88, 89 —

 _Mate_.

 _Buzz, buzz,_ his phone rattles on the counter. “They need a list of everything he’s taking,” Jessica’s frantic voice tells him.

He has a list, it’s in his phone. But there are more on the counter, vitamins and supplements… a picture’s faster.

He’s off the phone when he looks closer at each of the bottles. Prenatal vitamins. Some herbals he doesn’t recognize. Bottles he's never looked at very closely because they're his husband's business to share if and when he wants.

Seeing them now, it’s apparent Malcolm wants a child a bit more than the ‘maybe a chance' he'd said as they agreed to go through heats without birth control. The daily testament to that fact sits in front of him. Whose expectations is he managing? Gil’s or his own? Is he worried enthusiasm and hope will leave him disappointed?

Gil can’t dwell on it right now, can’t talk about it without his husband beside him. He busies himself gathering things the kid will need — clothes, something comfortable, something that feels like home. He grabs sleep pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a hoodie. Underwear, slippers. A blanket. Everything goes into his gym bag along with a lavender heat pack. He doesn’t know how it’ll be practical at the hospital, but he knows Malcolm loves the scent.

The second the pills kick in and give him some relief from the urge to breed, Gil is out the door heading for the hospital.

* * *

When the nurse in emergency intake hears who Gil is, he’s sequestered off into a private room. Not to his husband, but to a doctor who treated him. “It’s an unregulated supplement — mimics amphetamines,” the doctor explains to Gil. “He was tachycardic, short of breath, but he’s stable and comfortable now. We’ve given him an emergency suppressant and have another waiting for you. Let’s get that into you, then you can take him home.”

It’s an awkward conversation bringing up that he already took something to make it out of the loft, but it turns out it didn’t need to be. The doctor with him adjusts the dosage, saying, “Happens more often than you’d think.” A nurse administers the emergency suppressant into his thigh — it stings.

After a short wait, Gil is cleared to see his husband, hours after the health scare first occurred. Malcolm reaches for him as soon as he enters the room, and Gil hurries to grant his unspoken request. Laying in bed, Malcolm curled into his chest, Gil rubs his back and comforts him toward sleep, finally relaxing himself seeing that the kid is okay. The lavender pack rests in Malcolm's hands, surrounding them both in the soothing scent.

“I’m so drugged,” Malcolm complains.

Gil doesn't know what they gave him that's hitting him so hard. "I’ve got you. The doctor says you need rest, but I’m gonna get to take you home soon.” He kisses the top of his head.

"They said I need to go back to the doctor about my regimen." The kid sounds sleepy, leading Gil to think of the soft blankets he had ready to wrap him up in that they never got to use.

Gil rubs his side. “You went to the doctor?”

“Two. I haven’t always taken the best care of my body." Malcolm shrugs and goes quiet. "I wanted to do whatever I could to make it safer for a baby. Needed to talk about how to safely work with my medications."

“And?”

“It would be challenging”—Malcolm pauses, taking a breath—“given my history.”

“We knew that.”

“They want me to alter or stop some of them over time. All of these medications to manage sex and heat and nothing for managing my mental health while pregnant." Malcolm's frustration vibrates between them.

“Not nothing.” Gil had gone with him for a conversation with Gabrielle a few months back at the kid's request. They'd discussed some options, even if they understandably don't feel straightforward or well understood.

“Not comparable advances.” Malcolm sighs. “I don’t know if it’s gonna work, Gil. I'm doing everything I can, but I don't know if it's possible for me.”

"I know you are." Gil kisses the top of his head. "I’m okay if it doesn’t. Are you? I thought we were going for ‘it’d be nice if it happened.’”

Malcolm pauses a long time. “I don’t know." He gives a wan smirk, covering painful thoughts. "The Surgeon will look stellar on guardianship applications.”

"Stop it," Gil says firmly, without any bite. Joking about any of the options they're open to isn't funny, even sardonically, especially not the one he favors. They sound too much like Jessica’s words. It pains him that the kid still somehow sees himself as a detriment in parenting sometimes. "Some factors may be a challenge, but they consider everything.”

“I was inpatient last year," Malcolm rattles off like he has a list lined up to refute Gil's points.

“They would consider everything," Gil repeats. He'll keep reminding him they're not their individual parts even if he has a whole scroll of concerns.

“I’m scared.” Malcolm's quiet voice disappears into his chest.

“That’s okay.” Gil takes a steadying breath and rubs Malcolm's back. "I was pretty scared earlier." As he laid in the dark, not knowing if the flickers of blue, red, and white would be his last glimpses of his husband.

Steady breathing puffs against Gil's chest, and the extended silence makes him think the kid might be falling asleep.

"You'd be okay with just me?" Malcolm asks, more uncertain than Gil is comfortable with.

Gil holds him tight, trying to convey support in his actions and words. "You're not _just_ anything, Bright. I love you. That's not going to change."

Malcolm nods. Takes a deep breath. "I want to go home."

"Soon, kid." Gil scritches through Malcolm's hair. "We talked about a lot of different options. We don't need to revisit them all today, but I feel like we should talk again after we rest at home."

"Yeah, you're right." Malcolm chuckles, and Gil looks at the top of his head, puzzled. “I’ve never experienced a heat that strong.”

Gil smirks. Before things went downhill, it was intense but enrapturing. “It was something, huh?”

“Might need you to carry me to the car.”

“That sounds like the drugs talking.”

“Or cuddling and food when we get home.”

“Maybe a little more believable.” There are sure enough fruits and cheeses prepped in the fridge to offer something light for him to snack on.

Malcolm presses a kiss to Gil’s chest. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Of course.”

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> i've received significant support from so many people in this fandom that help make my writing possible. as this story is E, if you're 18+ and would like to chat prodigal son with wicked awesome people, come on by the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/TVkmgxV).


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